


Deus Ex Machina

by ShiroiKabocha



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiroiKabocha/pseuds/ShiroiKabocha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Aang had died at Ba Sing Se, and stayed dead? An alternate-universe exploration. May or may not ever be finished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Struck

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a NaNoWriMo in 2012, but never finished it. Polishing up the first four chapters, will post them here, and maybe finish the story if I feel compelled.

She didn't hear it when it happened. It didn't feel like a noise. It felt like she herself had been struck, frozen, seared by lightning—it wasn't an action separate from her being. The bolt cracked the cavern and for a moment, the tendrils of light connected everything: the mirror reflection of the royal siblings, the tense leash Azula held on the Dai Li, the lashing tentacles of Katara’s octopus form, but most crucially, the burning scar that hung in the air between Azula’s outstretched fingertips and Aang’s body. Not one moment ago, Katara saw Avatar Aang, the bridge between the mortal and spirit realms, master of four elements and vessel of a thousand souls, ready to face all who stood before him. But this moment, the only person she can see is a skinny twelve year old kid tumbling through the air, and in a second he’s going to hit the ground and break in half and—

Before that moment can happen she is with him, clutching that limp mess of skinny legs and bony elbows to her chest, and she can’t breathe because the waves surround her and overwhelm her and bring her to Aang with a tidal force and then she's soaking wet and coughing and gasping for air and the pain of the fall smacks against her but it’s okay, it’s okay for her to take that fall because she can’t let Aang fall, he can’t hit the ground, and if he can’t find a way out or dash away at the last minute then she’ll protect him, she has to, because he's Aang, he’s not just the Avatar and he’s not just her friend he’s _Aang_.

Her eyes sting. Fire flashes around her, and she hears someone bark an order—“GO!” Go. Go where? If there’s water coming into the cavern, it comes from somewhere. The waterfall pours forth from an opening in the rocks above them. Yes, it has to come from somewhere, and the water must cut a passage, but how narrow? How long? Again: “GO!” And, clutching Aang with one arm and summoning the water with another, Katara climbs.

The passage is wider than she hoped, but it twists and turns and she doesn't have Toph’s sense in the darkness. The stones tear at her flesh as she pushes forward, but the water bends to her will, forcing her ever onward. She curls herself around Aang, cushioning him from the blows as she blindly stabs a course through the rocks. Air is scarce here and she gulps breaths wherever she can—she doesn't think about whether Aang is breathing, she doesn't know, she doesn't want to ask. Up. _Up_. The water wants to trickle down, wants to flow with gravity and carve its gentle way into the deep earth, but she screams her will into it and it carries them up. After an hour, or maybe only a minute, the rocks give way and she's swimming toward the moon shimmering on the surface of the lake. Katara gasps and throws Aang on shore before climbing out beside him.

He’s cold.

Lightning doesn’t always kill. Sokka told stories about a man their father knew who had been struck by lightning four times at sea, and he never suffered so much as a stiff neck from it. And Aang isn't some unlucky fisherman, either. Aang is the Avatar, and he was filled with its energy when the bolt struck. He’s stronger than this tiny body that Katara beats with her fists and shakes and showers with tears. The lightning didn't kill him. It couldn't have.

She feels for his qi with her healing, but there’s no circulation, nothing to manipulate. Falling back on old healing, before there were benders to teach her, she presses her hands to his chest and pumps with all her might, trying to feel for water in Aang’s lungs or maybe start his heart up again or, or just to make him _move_ somehow, cry out. She tilts his head back and presses her mouth to his lips, breathing into his lungs, trying everything she half-remembers about reviving the drowned. The lightning wouldn't have killed Aang, but… but if she drowned him, trying to save them both…

When they find her, she is still bent over him, bombarding a lifeless doll with her hope.


	2. Watched

The scribes are a formality, only here to observe. They will record the events of the meeting word-for-word and preserve this chapter of the reign of Firelord Ozai in their archives for all time. Zuko’s been told to ignore them. He’s to address his father directly, as though this is a private conversation between the Firelord and the estranged prince. Just a friendly family chat, with half a dozen scribes.

“Prince Zuko,” the Firelord intones. Zuko kneels before the throne and lowers his head. “It’s been a long time.”

Zuko feels the weight of his father’s gaze settle across his shoulders. “I’ve worked tirelessly to regain your honor.” The rustling of papers as the scribes mark his words makes Zuko tense. Should he say something else? He’s lived this moment a thousand times over in his dreams; by now, he knows the words by heart. How many times has he whispered them into the dark in secret? But they sound so small in the light.

Ozai speaks, rendering Zuko’s deliberation moot. “You certainly have been busy.” In Zuko’s mind, his father’s words had always been warmer than this, prouder—there’s an edge to them now that makes Zuko queasy. “You’ve circled the globe and slain an Avatar, and with lightning, no less.” The world tilts sideways beneath him. His father’s voice remains even. “I didn’t know you’d mastered that form, Zuko. You’ll have to provide us a demonstration.” 

Seven pairs of eyes pin Zuko to the spot. The scribes hold their brushes over their papers, waiting.

_Damn you, Azula_. 

A hundred perfect lies flit past Zuko, but each one he reaches for evaporates once he grasps it. He swallows hard, and says the only thing he can think to say: “I can’t create lightning.” There’s a tangible pause before the scribes take down those words.

“Oh?” Ozai’s tone shifts to one of surprise, but his face remains blank. “The Dai Li agents we interviewed described the scene with great fervor: the rising Avatar, glowing with power, brought down by a bolt of lightning from your hand, Prince Zuko. If this is impossible, then tell me, who struck the final blow?” The Firelord leans forward. “Who truly prevailed?”

No, no no _no_ he’s come too far to fall into another one of Azula’s traps. Even if she’s set him up to play the fool he’ll find a way out of this, _damn_ her. “I can’t create lightning,” Zuko repeats, louder, raising his head and looking his father straight in the eye. “But I can redirect it.”

Ozai doesn't blink. “Explain.”

“Lightning is an advanced firebending technique,” Zuko continues, his tone measured. “There aren’t many firebenders who can accomplish it. The Dai Li hadn’t seen it used in combat before, so they wouldn’t have been familiar with its subtleties. I only redirected the lightning that killed the Avatar, but it must have looked to the Dai Li like I created it.” Zuko waits a beat, tamping down his fear. “They were mistaken.”

“Tell me whose, then. Whose lightning did you use?”

It’s out of his mouth before he realizes it—“Uncle’s.” Something inside Zuko cries out and he silences it immediately. “Uncle Iroh tried to shoot me with lightning, but I redirected it, and brought down the Avatar instead.”

“Impressive.” The Firelord rises, and descends the stairs of the dais. “I had no idea my brother’s treachery went so far. To threaten his own kin, the nephew he swore to protect…” Ozai stops before Zuko and frowns. “It’s unbelievable.”

Zuko’s scar burns as he remembers the last time his father stood before him like this. He’d stared up from the ground, pleading for forgiveness. This time, his father’s hand falls on his shoulder, not his face. “Rise, Prince Zuko.” The words should set him free.

Zuko remains kneeling. “What will happen to Uncle?” 

“For threatening the life of the heir to the throne? Execution, obviously.” 

It’s a testament to Zuko’s endurance that he makes it all the way to the courtyard before throwing up in the bushes. Attendants rush to offer assistance, but he waves them away, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his pounding head. He sees a ladle of cold water. Piled blankets. A hand under his head, lifting him up when he’s too weak to feed himself. Endless murmured words of comfort that neither of them remember because there were no scribes to write them down. One old peasant and one sick one, packed into a city filled with plenty older and sicker, anonymous to all but each other.

One sick prince, and one doomed one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needed to be completely rewritten. The only thing it has in common with the original is that Zuko still throws up at the end. Clearly the most vital plot point, right there.


	3. Sky

“You’re sure? It just seems so… I dunno. It just seems so lonely.”

“I’m sure. We found a place like this at an Air Temple once before, and Aang had to explain it to us. This is how they honor their dead.”

Pebbles crunched under three pairs of feet as the four of them climbed the mountain. Toph led the way, and Katara followed close behind. Her injuries from Ba Sing Se slowed their ascent, and she stumbled often. Toph tried to anticipate her movements and catch her before she hurt herself. At first, she had tried subtly earthbending the path in front of them to a smoother, easier climb for Katara, but Katara told her to stop. “This is a sacred place for the Air Nomads. Don’t change it.” Toph obeyed.

Sokka brought up the rear, carrying the body. The wind snapped at the shroud. Sokka was the only one who would touch the body after they realized Aang was gone. Toph cringed, remembering the night they found Katara on the shore of the lake—she remembered clutching Sokka for support as they circled the city on Appa’s back, and feeling his excitement as he pointed to the ground. “It’s them! Katara and Aang! They got out!” Appa circled lower, and Toph could hear Katara sobbing, but she didn’t hear Aang. She leapt off the bison and the world sprang into focus as her feet hit the ground, but Aang wasn’t there. There was only one person on the shore, and that was Katara. Toph couldn’t mistake Katara’s soft, deliberate movements or the vibrations they made, but she couldn’t feel Aang’s feathery, springy seismic signature anywhere.

“Where’s Aang?” Toph bounded over to Katara, and she felt Sokka pause in his steps behind her. Now that Toph was closer, she could feel something on the ground beside Katara. Katara didn’t say anything. A shiver crawled up Toph’s spine. “Katara… where is he?”

“What are you talking about?” Katara shook the pile of rags beside her. “He’s right here! Toph, he’s _right here!_ Can’t you see him? Or, or feel him?”

Sokka came up behind Toph and put a hand on her shoulder just as she stumbled backward. No, no that wasn’t Aang. There was _something_ in Katara’s arms, but it was an inanimate something, not a living person filled with breath and a beating heart, and certainly not Aang. That couldn’t be Aang. The thing in Katara’s arms was shaped like a person, but it didn’t have any kind of living hum, it didn’t have Aang’s buzz. When a person felt like that, it meant that they’d… left.

All three of them realized it at the same time. Katara dropped the body and covered her face. Sokka knelt to the ground and felt for Aang’s pulse, first at his wrist, then at his neck. And Toph, to her shame, turned and ran away, back towards Appa. Sokka had believed that Aang was there, and Katara had believed it—why did Toph have to ruin it? She had broken the spell. Maybe if she left, climbed back on Appa and took her feet off the ground, this sickening scene would disappear and Sokka could go back to scanning for Katara and Aang, and then he’d spot them, and when they landed Toph would feel both of them running toward her and they’d all pile on to Appa’s saddle and fly away together. This whole thing could disappear like a dream.

But that didn’t happen. What happened was that Sokka closed Aang’s eyes, cut a long swath of canvas from one of their tents, wrapped him with care, and lifted the body over his shoulder and up on to Appa’s back. They fled the burning city as the Fire Nation claimed their greatest victory in years. And now, they were climbing the steep path to the funeral mount of the Southern Air Temple, to bury their friend.

Well, not bury, actually. Aang obviously couldn’t confirm it, but Katara assured Toph that Air Nomads didn’t bury their dead. They left the bodies of their loved ones on the tops of mountains, open to the air, and let bugs and buzzard-wasps pick at their flesh. The thought of letting some kind of animal eat her friend’s body turned Toph’s stomach. It didn’t feel right. She always knew that burial was a uniquely Earth Kingdom tradition, and that other people laid their dead to rest in different ways—the Fire Nation burned them on funeral pyres, and the Water Tribes took them out to sea. But just leaving someone out in the sun to rot? That wasn’t a funeral at all. Toph felt like Katara had to be wrong, and she wished Aang were here to set them all straight on Air Nomad traditions.

She just wished Aang were here.

They reached the summit of the mountain, and Katara let out a sigh. “Oh, wow,” she whispered, steadying herself with a hand on Toph’s shoulder. “It’s really beautiful up here.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Toph took a discreet sniff, but all she could smell was fresh air and pine trees. It didn’t smell like rotting flesh. She didn’t want to feel around too much with her feet, for the fear of stepping on some dead monk’s face, or feeling the clutch of a bony hand around her ankle. “So, are there, like… you know… bodies?” They were really gonna leave Aang here?

“There are bones.” Katara took a few steps and rested her hand on something that, with context, Toph now recognized as the foot of a skeleton resting on a slab of rock. “It’s probably been a long time since anyone visited this place. These bones are over a hundred years old.”

Sokka crested the hill and arrived at the summit with the rest of them. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. None of them felt like saying anything. Sokka cleared his throat, taking the initiative to speak when no one else would. “Well, where should we put him?”

Katara drifted from rock to rock, brushing her fingers over the bones as she passed. She came to a spot near the edge of a steep drop overlooking the valley. “Here,” she said, and Sokka laid the body down. It didn’t feel anything like Aang anymore.

“Should somebody say a few words?” Toph asked.

“I don’t know what to say.” Sokka rubbed his sleeve against his face, and it came away wet with either sweat or tears. Toph suspected both.

“First time for everything, huh?” She regretted the joke as soon she heard herself say it.

They waited for Katara. She sat next to the place where Aang wasn’t, and said nothing.

The wind picked up and cleared away the clouds, and the warmth of the sun blossomed on Toph’s face. Birds cried out over the sound of the breeze and the crashing of the waves far below. Toph thought that, maybe, she could understand why the Air Nomads brought their dead to this place: a place of peace, but not stillness; a mountaintop alive with the sun and the wind, where an Air Nomad could become one with their element. It was the closest you could get to touching the sky.

After a time, Katara rose and started toward the path. “Come on,” she said. “We have work to do.” They followed her, Sokka first, Toph second, walking away from Aang.


	4. Cycle

Metal scraped against rock as Azula opened the ancient reinforced doors. She was familiar with almost all the passages beneath the Fire Nation capital, but complete knowledge of the caverns was impossible, and this particular one fell into a black spot on her mental map. She knew it was deep. It wasn’t uncommon for the Firelord to summon Azula without first indicating the purpose of their meeting, but a location as remote as this one was new.

She smiled at the possibility that her father chose this place because he wished to discuss sensitive matters away from the spying ears of the palace—matters like succession, perhaps. Azula had long ago assumed all the responsibilities of a rising Firelord: negotiating her way into the necessary councils, greasing all the appropriate palms, gathering key pieces of incriminating information on anyone who might oppose her. She’d spent years laying the groundwork to assume complete control upon Ozai’s death, and she refused to let squabbles over birthright impede her. Despite the damnable twelve minutes by which Zuko’s birth preceded hers, Azula was certain which twin truly wielded the divine mandate to rule this empire. Her father’s banishment of the only person between her and the throne all but confirmed it. It’s good to be the favored child, and to know it.

The Firelord stood with his back to the door, and lit the cavernous space with a flame in his hand. Iron bars painted stripes of shadow across the walls. Human-sized cages filled the room, raised from the floor and adorned with chains and shackles.

“Azula.” The Firelord turned to face his daughter, his expression hard and inscrutable. “Have you ever been here before?”

Azula bowed before her father. “No, Father, I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with this place. Is it a prison? Do you have a specific quarry you would like caged here? If so, I would be honored to assist you in its capture.”

“As a matter of fact, I fear we will need to return this facility to its previous purpose soon, and most likely, you will be in charge of filling it. But you haven’t yet told me what you think this place is.” The Firelord raised his flame higher and gestured at the cages around them. “Tell me, daughter, what can you surmise about the prisoners housed here from the chains that bound them?”

Azula lit a blue flame of her own and bent close to the nearest cage. “The shackles hanging from the top of the cage are too short to allow movement of the arms, and the restraints on the floor would keep a prisoner kneeling. There’s no bedding anywhere, and barely any space to move.” She circled the cage. “To go to such lengths to keep a prisoner sitting upright, unable to move their arms or legs even to sleep—the prisoners here were benders. Powerful ones who couldn’t be trusted with freedom of movement.” She flashed her father a smile. “Am I right?”

“Partly.” Ozai pointed to the floor of the cage. “What else can you deduce?”

Azula wrinkled her nose. “Well, if these prisoners were not allowed to move, they must have relieved themselves in their cages—hence the raised floors.” Angled channels were cut into the floor beneath the cages, and Azula followed them to the center of the room, where they disappeared into a grate covering a deep chasm. The scent of sulfur rose from it—probably, it led into a volcanic vent. She’d seen her fair share of prisons, but this one had a more sophisticated sanitation system than she’d ever encountered. Someone went to great lengths to make sure those held here wouldn’t be stewing in their own filth. “Were these important prisoners? Benders held for ransom, who would need to be presentable when returned to their loved ones?”

“No. Pay close attention, Azula. What makes this prison different from any other?”

Azula ran through her memories of prisons across the globe: the eerie, dripping, green-lit holding cells of the Dai Li beneath Lake Laogai, the steaming pit of the Boiling Rock, holes hollowed out in the damp earth beneath the palaces of a dozen petty Earth Kingdom governors, stinking with rot and mildew— “Moisture,” Azula announced. “Prisons are damp. This place is meticulously dry.”

Ozai nodded. “You have it at last. Now, put the final pieces together: what kinds of benders were imprisoned here?”

“Highly dangerous waterbenders,” Azula said. “We use prison ships to keep high-risk earthbenders separated from their element, and in the same vein, parched volcanic caverns like these keep waterbenders away from any possible weapon. The prisoners here were waterbenders of the highest skill, for whom even a trace of moisture was a possible tool for escape. Am I right?”

“Almost. This prison was designed to contain the most dangerous waterbender in the world. But while it operated, we had no way of knowing whether he was here at all, or still at large.”

Azula knitted her brows. “I don’t understand. How could the Fire Nation fail to locate such an important fugitive?”

Ozai wheeled on Azula and growled. “By killing him instead.” The blood drained from Azula’s face. “Tell me, daughter, does the Avatar die? Does the Avatar vanish from the world once you strike him down? Have you eliminated the greatest threat to our nation once and for all? Or in the heat of the moment, when you shot the boy dead, did it slip your mind that I ordered you to _capture_ the airbender, not kill him?”

He knew.

“Father, I…” Azula’s voice wavered dangerously, and she dug her fingers into her palms to steel herself against her father’s glare. “I saw an opportunity to destroy an enemy of the state and I took it. Zuko wasted years chasing the Avatar and let him slip through our fingers each time—"

The Firelord grabbed Azula and slammed her against the bars. “Do you even know what you’ve done? You’ve made the same mistake as my shortsighted grandfather! He wanted to kill the Avatar too, but the _Avatar doesn’t die_ , Azula! The moment Roku stood against him, Sozin should have put him under house arrest and hired him an army of personal physicians. But he let the old man die, and the Avatar escaped. He gave the Avatar the gift of rebirth—granted him a stronger, younger body and the benefit of secrecy in which to train it—and you’ve done it again!” Ozai pounded his fist against the bars next to Azula’s head. “Shall we start over, Azula? Launch another genocide, all to stamp out one anonymous infant? Imprison every single waterbender young enough to be the reborn Avatar? Tell me, how did that work out for us in the past?”

Ozai’s spittle sizzled as it landed on Azula’s face. With the force of her father’s arms pressing her against the bars and the breastplate of her armor jutting against her throat, she could barely breathe, let alone speak. Ozai continued. “My father and his father before him were idiots, and I had hoped their stupidity was passed down to only one of my children. You say that Zuko let the Avatar slip through our fingers? You’ve just given him a brand new identity.” Azula’s vision blurred as her father tightened his grip on her throat. This was the end. Ozai didn’t tolerate disobedience, and he had ordered Azula to capture the Avatar—in these last few moments of life, her error was obvious. She’d taken the same bait Zuko had, and she’d lost. She’d lost to _Zuko_. This couldn’t be happening.

“ _A clean slate!_ ” Azula choked out with her last remaining breath. Ozai’s grip slackened. Azula gasped for air, and despite her hoarseness, the words spilled from her mouth in an unbroken stream. “Sozin’s error damned us all, you’re right. He might have made an ally of Avatar Roku, but instead he created an Avatar whose hatred of the Fire Nation was absolute—and yes, Father, I know I disobeyed your orders when I slew the airbender, but what would you have done had I captured him? He would be a constant liability as a prisoner, as would his allies! But I’ve given us a second chance.” The lies bubbled up effortlessly—not even lies, just creative truths, taking on a life of their own. “You’re right, Father, there will be a new Avatar now. A child… an _impressionable_ child.”

Ozai lowered his daughter to the ground, but he didn’t take his hands off her neck. Blood dripped from the crescent scars beneath his fingernails. “Elaborate.”

“Let me search,” Azula pleaded. “I won the Earth Kingdom for you through subterfuge— you know I could infiltrate either of the Water Tribes. I won’t need an army, I won’t even need a ship. Let me find the new Avatar for you, Father, and bring that Avatar to the Fire Nation. We can raise the Avatar within the walls of the capital. We’ll grow our own unstoppable weapon.” Azula was manic now. “Who can oppose our rule if the ultimate arbiter of balance and harmony in our world stands with us?”

At last, the Firelord let go of the princess. Azula resisted the urge to rub the wounds at her neck—now was not a time to show weakness. “Let me prove my worth to you, Father. Let me provide you the ultimate solution to our nation’s most persistent, vexing problem.” _And after that, we find a permanent solution to mine._

“You’re turning me into a predictable old man,” Ozai chuckled. “Instead of execution, I banish you from the shores of the Fire Nation. Return with the Avatar— _alive_ —or don’t return. You will receive no aid from me until you succeed.”

Azula nodded. “I won’t disappoint you, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, in the series, Azula and Zuko aren't twins. Zuko is at least a year older than Azula. But, whatever. They're twins here.


End file.
